Rage is a new feeling for me and it scares me because it
makes me imagine what it must be like for other people whose rage is even
stronger than mine.
I yelled at Tommy this weekend because he wanted water after
bedtime even though he’d already said he didn’t want any. My exhaustion didn’t
want me to get up and get it for him.
So I yelled. Loudly.
I am so mad at you.
His little feet padding away down the hallway sipping at his
little turtle cup.
You are so rude!
This little three-year-old being. A deep, but not rational,
part of me thinks he’s trying to get away with something. It’s a power play and
I shouldn’t give in. And he’s starting to scream again after a good
half-an-hour of yelling at bedtime. And that’s why I screamed.
I’m so tired. I’ve got
nothing left inside me.
Must these bursts of rage be a part of my life without
antidepressants? Are they normal?
I must admit I was looking forward to my dancing today. I’m
already enjoying the “me” time. I dance just for me. And to feel joy or
whatever strong emotions I can shake out of my being.
An interesting phenomenon arose today after I viewed my video of me dancing to Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance.
I noticed not only the joyfulness of my dancing, but I
noticed the negatives, too. I saw how my arms are out of shape and kind of
wobbly. I saw my funny faces that I’m sure people will laugh at and judge. I
saw some dance moves that looked a bit suggestive and silly.
But on the bright side, I also noticed how quickly I was
able to say, so what?
This dancing thing is for me. For me to fight my depression.
And to learn more about myself.
One big thing I learned today, I am not in great physical
shape. After dancing, I had a coughing fit and some serious lung ache.
How in the world do performers dance all-out AND sing at the
same time, for goodness’ sake?
This is me. These are my issues. Welcome to my world.
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